Captain Danton's steady voice momentarily failed, and Reginald Stanford sat in horrified silence.
"What came next," continued the Captain, his voice tremulous, "the madman never knew.

He has a vague remembrance of his wife's screams filling the room with people; of his finding himself out somewhere under the stars, and his brain and heart on fire.

He has a dim remembrance of buying a wig and whiskers and a suit of sailor's clothes next day, and of wandering down among the docks in search of a ship.

By one of those mysterious dispensations of Providence that happen every day, the first person he encountered on the dock was myself.

I did not know him--how could I in that disguise--but he knew me instantly, and spoke.